The Way We Touch
by SecondSadie
Summary: Series of unrelated one-shots. #3: In which Felicity is ridiculously insecure.
1. In the Morning Sun

_AN: Please forgive the following story for any annoyances or poor qualities. It's been quite some time since I've written fan fiction (so long, in fact, that I actually did have another pen name on this site but I have completely forgotten the e-mail address and password that I used for it). So, I'm pretty sure I'm quite rusty. However, I very much so enjoy Arrow, especially the character of Felicity since I feel like she and I are kindred spirits: ceaseless babbling (as is obvious in this AN and the following story), preference for glasses and cute animal flats, and causing unintentional awkwardness with everyone I encounter. But seeing her character so well liked by pretty much everyone gives my awkward self hope that I'm not as embarrassing as I think I am._

_The inspiration for this fic comes from WE ARE TWIN's "The Way We Touch". Granted, the beat of the song doesn't really give off an Arrow vibe, but I felt the lyrics could relate to Olicity all the same. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own CW's Arrow or WE ARE TWIN's "The Way We Touch"._

It's moments like these that she wished she could take him away, far away from Starling City and just force him to _relax_. And then it's immediately after that wish that she would think _where could I possibly take him? _Beaches were out, as far as she knew, because how could you ever associate "fun in the sun" with the ocean after spending 5 torturous years under that totally not fun sun, surrounded by endless ocean? And hiking was probably out for the same nightmare-inducing reason. Maybe a carnival? He would totally rank "Hercules" at the High Striker game. And of course win every stuffed animal for her at all the game booths with his ridiculous aim. And she would drag him onto all the rides despite his protests (even though she knows he would secretly love the tilt-a-whirl) and they would stuff themselves silly with cotton candy and corn dogs… or maybe she would stuff herself silly, since he's a bit particular, but she's sure she can convince him to try a bite or two of her cotton candy…

Uh oh, he just sighed again for the seventh time in twenty minutes. He's pacing so much behind her that _she's_ starting to sweat. She knows these moments are tough for him, when he's been trying to take down the bad guy for an extended period of time (meaning a week in Oliver Time, because somehow his vigilante biological clock is set for 48 hours and God help both friend and foe when he hasn't been able to shoot an arrow at someone's leg in two days). How often she's fantasized about grabbing his face between her hands, stare solemnly into his deep blue gaze, and say "CHILLAX."

She won't do that for two reasons: 1) Oliver most likely doesn't even know what "chillax" means (she keeps sending him the word of the day from urban dictionary's website in hopes that he'll get at least one or two of her pop culture references); and 2) he'd probably just end up narrowing his eyes slightly and reply with "Felicity", but not in the deep growly way she likes. More like in his uber-eerie-calm-before-the-storm voice that lets her know he's about to either break both sparring dummies in half or decide not to use the salmon ladder again in her presence if she doesn't find something with her computer magic.

And she certainly doesn't want that.

So she keeps her hands to herself, her mouth shut, and her eyes on the screen, hoping one of her searches will turn up something and that Oliver doesn't break the headrest of her chair from gripping it too hard.

It's not that he doesn't know how to relax… okay, well, maybe he doesn't, not fully anyway. He's been spending the night pretty regularly at her place for three months now, and they would be on the couch watching TV, his head resting on her lap, seemingly at ease, when _CRASH!_ Oliver had bolted upright into a fighting stance, holding a knife he pulled out from who knows where, looking for an assailant. Felicity has to tell him three times that it was only the dishes in the sink that had fallen over, and even then he wouldn't relax until he'd done a perimeter sweep of her apartment.

Now it's Felicity's turn to sigh. She knows he has many burdens to bear (and she knows she doesn't lighten the load by getting kidnapped or held hostage occasionally). She knows that what he does, what _they_ do, is powerfully more important than _relaxing_, and she's surprised she's even able to get in four hours of sleep some nights. But she just wishes he wasn't so hard on himself when things don't go according to plan. In all likelihood, this "give me all the guilt, I can handle it; let's add on yours as well, shall we?" mentality was developed during his time on the island, and she only hopes that the guilt is alleviated little by little with every bad guy they take down. But let's face it, even if they do get rid of all the evil-doers of the world, he'd still feel like it's never enough.

It's when she sees those moments, those moments of "I need to do something but I feel so helpless" (okay, okay, Oliver probably wouldn't use the word "helpless") that she wants to take him away from it all and protect him from the big bad like he's protected her (so, so many times) and just love him.

Now that she thinks about it, the only time Oliver really shuts out the ugly is when they're intimate. She still wouldn't call it relaxing because he gets so… focused… quite focused. Much like the way he plays two parts in life-one as the billionaire everyone sees and one as the fighter only she and Digg know-Oliver has two distinct ways of making love… Okay, wait, not that they only do it two ways, they do it many ways…

She can feel herself blushing and hopes to goodness Oliver doesn't notice. She wouldn't want to explain why she's getting so flushed when tracking down a serial arsonist…

But for example: at night when they're together, Oliver is just coming down from his vigilante high, so his adrenaline is off the charts. They work off his energy in the most delicious ways, and he's rough and fast and hard and perfect, staring into her eyes like she's the only thing anchoring him to this world and don't let go, not yet, not yet, not yet. And afterwards when he holds her she knows he drifts in and out of sleep, never quite falling deep asleep, but enough that he doesn't have nightmares and she considers that a win.

But come morning, his lovemaking is gentler, like the sunlight has the ability to transform him from intense and unrelenting Arrow to tender and comfortable-in-his-own-skin Oliver. In the morning light he's teasing and playful because the very first time he woke her up in the morning with his head between her thighs, she wouldn't stop blushing for a good thirty minutes afterwards, so she now has a feeling he gets a kick out of how long she'll stay red. She's even pretty sure one time he purposely had Digg bring over breakfast for an impromptu Team Arrow meeting not five minutes after giving her one of his patented wake-up calls, ensuring that she would turn beet red every time Digg spoke to her.

Okay, now she can practically feel herself glowing in the dark. She ducks her head down so Oliver won't see, but immediately picks it back up again when she hears a beeping from one of the monitors. She opens her mouth to call for his attention but he's already there, leaning over her shoulder to read whatever information her search had brought up.

"What is it?" Digg asks, jumping up from his seat on the couch to make his way over to them.

"Looks like our guy booked a red-eye flight out of Starling City for later this evening," Felicity responds, pulling up a map of the airport without having to be asked so they can start forming their plan of attack. She turns her face slightly to Oliver to tease him, "And you told me not to waste time doing a search on an alias he hasn't used in ten years. _Psh._ Better make it a bottle of Cabernet for afterwards this time, feel free to surprise me with the brand. Also, is it bad taste to call the serial arsonist who used a fake name to escape the country 'Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire'?"

Felicity looks at Oliver when he picks up her hand and brings it to his lips, giving it a lingering kiss. She can see some of his previous tension start to ebb away, the furrow between his brows start to relax…

Digg clears his throat. "Alright, alright, break it up before she starts blushing. You know how long it takes for her to calm down."

Too late.

_End_

_AN2: Thank you very much for reading! If anyone does end up looking for the song, please know that I totally consider Digg as the "martial Mr. Davy"._


	2. Where You Can Grow Into Your Own

_AN: Thanks so very much to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted! It is all greatly appreciated!_

_And many, many thanks to loved in shades of wrong for being my unofficial mentor :) This wouldn't be half as pretty without you!_

_The inspiration for this one-shot came from a t-shirt I saw in Skymall magazine. Also, it is somewhat crack-y, and then it gets somewhat angsty (honestly unintentional)... in essence, this is what happens when I try to study for the GRE on a plane and end up procrastinating instead. And to be completely honest, I'm still not sure if I even like what I wrote. It's one of those pieces that makes me cringe every time I read it, but maybe that's because I usually cringe at what I write. Apologies again for any mistakes and/or imperfections I may have made._

_Disclaimer: I do not own CW's Arrow... or Skymall Magazine._

The first time they had sex, Oliver turned the lights off.

During that moment, Felicity didn't really notice as she was being preoccupied with more... pressing matters. But when she woke up in his arms the next morning and snuggled deeper into his chest, she meticulously replayed all the _amazingness_ that had happened the night before and distinctly recalled how, in between the nips to her jaw and his trailing fingers to places she had never realized were so sensitive, he had reached over to her lamp with his other hand and switched it off. That little event put a pause in her reminiscing, but then she had dismissed it, eagerly going through the rest of that night's activities. And then he woke up, so she didn't have to think about it anymore.

However, over the course of the week Felicity would wake up each morning, basking in the afterglow, only to remember that one little peculiarity: Oliver always turned off the lights. It wasn't until a week and a half later when they are at the Foundry and she is watching him do push-ups with one arm (and making her think of other certain activities that could be done in such a way) that she comes to the most upsetting realization: she has never seen Oliver completely naked! He always turns off the lights before he got undressed!

Sure, sure, she has been able to feel him in all his glory and such, but after three years of fantasizing, she just wants to see the real deal. After all, what was the point of sleeping with Oliver Queen if you didn't get the chance to ogle him without feeling like a creeper?

Oliver finishes his push-ups and Felicity quickly turns back to her monitors, half hoping he hadn't noticed.

Okay, maybe you can still feel like a creeper (who still uses the word ogle anyway?) And there's definitely more to their relationship than just sex (although if the past couple of weeks are any indication, it would seem their relationship is pretty sexy, and that's totally fine with her... really fine).

Felicity glances back at Oliver and sees him wiping himself off with a towel, traveling first over his shoulders, down his stomach, then around to the small of his back and up again.

Alright, if she has to sum up her feelings into a soy nutshell, she will have to say she feels _cheated_. Really, it's just not fair that she doesn't get to enjoy _all_ of the perks that come with being Oliver Queen's girlfriend... not that she isn't enjoying other perks that come...

"Felicity, are you feeling okay? You're looking a little flushed."

Felicity jumps, not expecting Oliver to be standing over her shoulder and... smirking?

She turns back to her computers and says quickly, "Fine, just fine! Peachy-keen, jelly bean!"

Oliver lets out one of his little huffs, the one that means he's amused with her, and leans down to drape an arm over her shoulder and presses his lips to her cheek. "Good. Then let's go home."

She briefly melts at his use of the word "home", knowing he's referring to her apartment and that it wouldn't be "home" without each other. His lips move to her neck and then she melts for an entirely different reason when she realizes what they'll be doing when they get home—

And then she gets upset all over again! Honest to goodness, if she doesn't get to do it with the lights on tonight...

He tosses her onto the bed and he's on her before she can even bounce twice. So far everything is going _very _well, until she sees his arm reach towards the lamp at the right side of the bed. As predicted, he turns it off, and then she feels him pull back briefly to take off his shirt.

Holding him close with one arm and trying to make her lips as distracting as possible, she uses the other arm to turn the lamp back on. She feels him hesitate for the briefest second before reaching out and turning off the light again.

She pulls his bottom lip between her teeth and thinks, _Gotcha_. Now she knows his intentions are to keep the lights off, but she has no idea as to why. Does he not want her to see him? Is he insecure? For goodness's sake, she thinks it's weird when he puts a shirt _on_. And in a fleeting moment of doubt and sadness, she thinks, _does he not want to see me?_

Refusing to let herself go down that road (because she already has, many times, but she'll be darned if she keeps thinking like that while he's reverently caressing every part of her), she lifts her hand again and turns on the light. This time he noticeably pauses and breathes a soft growl of frustration against her lips before turning the light off.

She's being driven crazy in two ways: one by Oliver's superbly talented mouth, and the other by this fixation Oliver has with keeping the lights off.

Felicity Smoak hates mysteries. But she thinks she knows how to solve this one.

So, this time, Felicity attempts to stealthily turn the lamp back on. But Felicity's version of stealth doesn't really compare with Oliver's version, as is evident by the way his hand stealthily darts out and grabs her wrist before she even touches the lamp, pinning it above her head. She then tries to use her other hand, again stealthily... but that doesn't work either and now she has both hands pinned above her head.

She struggles for a moment, her mind still on the lamp, but then he growls again, this time her name, so she knows he means business. Oliver's hands tighten on her wrists and his mouth finds her nipple, and now her mind doesn't know why she's thinking of a stupid _lamp_. Then he's inside her using a pace that's bit rougher than usual, and she has no idea why she was so fixated on the lights in the first place since Oliver has no trouble with making her see stars anyway...

When it's over, Oliver is slumped over on top of her, their chests heaving in time. She doesn't realize her wrists are still pinned until he releases them and moves to the right to lie beside her. She decides to give him a moment, and then because she can't help it:

"So, uh... you like doing it in the dark, huh?"

She hears him let out a half sigh, half laugh before continuing, "I mean, that's cool. We all have our preferences. I just never pegged you for the shy type considering, you know, the whole training shirtless in front of me before we started dating thing. And I've always heard it's the woman in the relationship who insists on keeping the lights off. Not that I'm calling you a woman... nor would I call you a woman in an insulting way. I'm a woman, as you obviously know by now, and there's nothing wrong with being a woman. You would be very fortunate to be a woman... but I wouldn't be fortunate if you were a woman, since I don't swing that way. Not that there's anything wrong with swinging that way. Again, preferences…"

She can practically feel him stare at her, and who knew the weight of a stare was ten times worse in the dark? She counts down from three and then reaches across him to turn on the light.

He grabs her hand as it slides across his chest and says, "Seriously?"

She sighs. "Oliver. Why do you want the lights off?"

"Why do you want the lights on?"

"Because I finally have a hot boyfriend and I'm kinky like that."

He sighs and laughs again, but with a little more laugh, and he releases her hand. She continues to reach over him and _finally_ turns the light on.

She sits up to face him and sees that his lower half is under the covers. His face is turned away from her and his hands are slowly rubbing up and down his thighs.

Ah.

She puts her hands over his to stop them from moving and cranes her neck so that she can make eye contact.

"Oliver," she says again gently, "I know that there's a lot you still feel like you can't tell me about the island. And that's fine, I get it. But you should know: every time I look your scars, I don't see them as ugly or scary. I see them as strength, courage, and perseverance. And even though I can't imagine all the horror and pain you've been through when you got those scars, I think it's possible you feel like they've… dehumanized you."

Oliver sucks in a shuddering gasp and closes his eyes, and she can feel her own eyes welling up with tears. Oh, if only she knew the names of the people who hurt him (if they were still alive), and all the ways she would use her tablet to make them _suffer_ for hurting him.

But she doesn't know their names, and she figures she never will, so she straddles his lap and brushes a kiss against his forehead, his cheek, his eyelids. "You're not any less of a man, Oliver. If anything, you've had to change into an even greater man to survive all you've been through, and I love you for it. I love everything about you, and no imperfections that you think you have is going to change that."

He crushes her against him; his face buried in her neck and she just holds him for a little while, smoothing a hand through his hair occasionally. Then he gently shifts her off of his lap, takes a deep breath, and lowers the covers…

His legs and thighs are littered with as many scars as his torso, if not more. She recognizes stab and bullet wounds, but there are countless others that she has no idea how they were inflicted, and she doesn't want to know.

He seems pretty anxious, so instead of going over his body and trying to heal each bad memory with a kiss like she really wants to, she instead curls up against his side and holds his hand, giving him the time he needs to get comfortable in his own skin again.

Besides, if she has her way, she'll have plenty of time later in their relationship to worship his body.

She's not sure how much time has passed, but when he presses his lips to the top of her head and says, "Thank you," she thinks he's a little bit better now.

She smiles. "No, no, thank _you_."

He laughs, and her smile gets bigger.

She runs a finger over the tattoo on his chest and says, "You know, I always I thought scars are cooler than tattoos anyway. And you know how much I love tattoos."

He laughs again, shaking his head slightly, "I actually don't know how much you love tattoos."

She sits up to look at him. "Really? Huh. Well, I think tattoos are pretty darn sexy. This one guy I dated in college was _covered_, but my favorites were the one on his fingers because whenever we had sex—"

She doesn't get to finish because Oliver tackles her and lays a kiss on her that makes her completely lose her train of thought.

When he pulls back he has a mischievous glint in his eye and he glances at the lamp.

"Oliver Queen, you turn that light off and I will get you drunk one night and make you get finger tattoos."

"What would they be of?" he asks with a kiss to her neck.

"Arrows, of course. And maybe on the other hand computer wires."

He gives her a big smile and says, "You really are kinky, aren't you?"

She blushes again, but says anyway, "Only one way to find out."

_End_

_AN2: The shirt in the Skymall magazine said: "Scars are like tattoos but with better stories." Only, I'm sure all of the stories of Oliver's scars are extremely painful and depressing, so they wouldn't necessarily be better. _

_Also: I use the word "ogle" all the time._

_Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!_


	3. Oh, Dare I Say the Rest

_Hello everyone! Once again, many thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and alerted! I greatly appreciate the support!_

_This one is for quisinart4, who asked for a story that delves a bit deeper into Felicity's insecurity I mentioned briefly in the last story. __**Quisinart4**__: still probably not what you were looking for, but I hope you still like it all the same! Thanks again for your encouragement and shared enthusiasm for established relationship fics! :)_

_**Warning**__: I'll tell you right off the bat that no major characters die, but this story's subject does revolve around cancer and contains a few tacky, self-deprecating jokes about the matter. None of it is meant to be offensive or insulting; there is absolutely nothing funny about cancer. But that being said, I come from a family that has had its fair share in battling the disease, and we've all learned that laughing about it can sometimes be the least painful way to live through it._

_I apologize for any mistakes or imperfections, or any overall annoyances. This was really tough for me to write. It's pretty heavy on the dialogue, and my Oliver Voice needs work, but I tried to keep it as in character as possible. Also: tenses are tricky mofos._

_Disclaimer: I do not own CW's "Arrow" or WE ARE TWIN's "The Way We Touch"_

#3: Oh, Dare I Say the Rest

Felicity slams the door to her apartment and practically throws her keys at the coffee table before marching into her bedroom. She strips off her shirt and bra and faces her mirror to inspect the red marks still remaining from the mammogram screening. She gently prods at one mark, grimacing at the soreness.

She glares at her reflection. "Not cool, boobs. Not cool."

She hears the apartment door open and his "Felicity?", and scrambles to put her shirt back on. But he's a ninja and she only manages to hold the shirt to her chest before he suddenly appears in her bedroom doorway.

"Don't you knock?"

"I thought that's why you gave me a key to your apartment. So I don't have to knock."

He rakes his gaze over her state of dress and slightly narrows his eyes, and she doesn't know if it's the "Why aren't you completely naked?" look, or the "You're acting weirder than normal, and I'm going to find out why" look.

"It's the latter look. You need to tell me what's going on. Right now."

She sighs, doing her own appraisal of his appearance: rolled-up sleeves, unloosened tie, folded arms. He must have come straight from QC.

She tries giving him a smile to stop his frown from growing deeper, but even she can feel it not reach her eyes. "I told you last night, I'm just not feeling very well. I think it's one of those 24-hour cold things. Both Tracy and Richard in accounting had it last week, I probably just got it from one of them."

He continues to stare at her with his intense I-can-see-into-your-soul Arrow gaze, and she tries smiling again.

Nope, still not working.

He tosses his suit jacket onto her dresser by the door, but after giving him a look of her own he quickly removes it. She walks over to the same dresser, trying not to notice for the millionth time their synchronized domesticity when he steps out of her way so he can hang his jacket in her closet and she grabs one of his t-shirts and a pair of jeans he keeps in the top drawer. She tosses him his clothes and pulls on one of her pajama sets. She's going to need to be comfortable when they have this conversation…

He changes into the shirt and jeans, and walks over to sit on her bed. He gives her an imperceptible nod and she slowly makes her way over to sit next to him.

He moves to take her hands in his own, but with a shake of his head he instead leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and turns his head to look at her. She fidgets under his gaze for a good minute before he finally speaks. "It's more than just a 24-hour thing, Felicity. You've been avoiding me for a whole week."

She tenses, upset with herself that she wasn't able to hide from him without him noticing (who was she kidding? The man's night job is to hunt down people _in hiding_).

She tries to argue anyway but he doesn't let her, "For the past several days you're up and ready to go before I'm even awake; you've had lunch meetings with the assorted administrative staffs every day; you get to the Foundry after I'm already out on patrol; you get home before I do and _pretend_ to be asleep when I get in."

When he pauses to unclench his jaw, she tries to protest again but he silences her with another look. "And now today you called in sick, even though I know you haven't started your cold medicine routine."

She softens considerably at the fact that he knows her so well that he's aware of how she takes care of herself when she's sick. She realizes at this point there's no sense in waiting any longer in telling him.

She leans forward to thread her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Oliver. You're right; I have been a little distant lately, but that's only because I was trying to figure out what to say. I just wanted to say things right for once. You know my tendency of making a mess out of things with my mouth- _Oh, my god_, like that right there."

She folds herself over so she buries her head in her lap and hears Oliver let out a weak chuckle. She continues to speak, her voice muffled, "Honestly, I had a whole speech prepared that I was going to tell you tomorrow. You can't just wait one more day?"

"That depends. Is your speech about breaking up with me?"

She sits up so fast she gets a head rush. "I- _What?_"

He keeps his gaze on his folded hands with a small, sad smile on his lips, "Don't forget: I've broken up with countless women before (and after) the island. This scenario looks all too familiar to me. I know what it means when a person starts creating distance in a relationship."

Felicity can't take anymore, and takes his face in her hands so he'll look at her, "No, no, no, no, no, I am absolutely _not_ breaking up with you." She moves forward so she can press a sweet, urgent kiss on his lips, and with that she feels him relax.

But, of course, because she's Felicity Smoak and she needs to prepare whole speeches before saying anything else ever again, she says, "Although you might be breaking up with me after what I'm going to tell you."

With that, he completely pulls away from her and stands up to start pacing. "_Felicity_. Tell me what's wrong _right now_."

"Okay, okay… I just…" She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, not wanting to see whatever range of emotions she knows will be playing across his face in a few seconds. "Last week, I found a few lumps in my left breast. I called out sick today because I had an appointment for a mammogram."

The room is still and she's not sure what to make of it, but she refuses to open her eyes because she doesn't want to see the look that is on Oliver's face. She refuses to see the man she loves look at her with pity.

She feels the bed dip beside her and suddenly she's being pulled into his arms. She turns into his body instinctively, tucking her face into his neck so she can breathe in his scent.

They're pressed so closely together that his strained voice rumbles into her body, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugs, the movement made awkward because of their proximity. "I don't really know. Part of it really was because I didn't know what to say. If this was even worth saying. It's entirely possibly that I don't even have cancer, and I didn't want you worrying needlessly. Goodness knows you worry about plenty of other things."

He lets out a huff, "I think this is worth worrying about more than any low-life scum out there." She acknowledges his statement with a nod and he continues, "When do you find out your results?"

"In a few days. But see, that's what I really need to talk to you about. Because even though the lumps can turn out to be benign, there's still a very big chance that we can end up in this situation again and again and again."

He pulls back to give her his look that says "explain".

So she does: "My family… a lot of my relatives have been diagnosed with cancer. My grandfather died of colon cancer, my cousin of leukemia. I have a few female cousins on both sides who have breast cancer. So you see… it kind of runs in the family. Because of that, I've been told that I have a higher risk in getting diagnosed than most people. I just wasn't expecting to have to go through this so soon. Then again, a lot of people don't expect it. _No one_ expects it.

"So, now that I've pretty much forgotten my big speech because you're so _impatient_", she ignores his huff, "I'll give you the cliff notes version: I'd have told you that I have personal experience in seeing someone I love suffer through cancer, and I'd never wish that heartache on someone I love. I'd have told you that cancer is never pretty, and I know that if I were diagnosed I would never be the same, physically or emotionally. And I just… I want to you protect you from that."

"Felicity, you don't need to protect me from anything-"

"Wait, you have to let me finish before I have a complete meltdown and become incoherent. Now, where was I?"

He grits through his teeth, "You want to protect me."

"Right. I want to protect you from this stupid, awful, ugly _thing_. I want to give you a choice: if I do end up having cancer, I want you to know that I'll understand if you want to call things off."

"_WHAT_-"

"Shush! This isn't something you can fight, Oliver. Cancer isn't the island or Malcolm Merlyn or some other psycho threatening Starling City. This is something I have to face without your arrows. And if you feel like that'll be too much for you, too much baggage for you worry about or to put up with, then I understand if you want to break up. But I think you should do it soon, probably before I get diagnosed, because you dumping a girl with cancer will not do your reputation any favors."

His jaw drops, and she thinks that's the first time she's ever seen that happen. "But you should also do it sooner rather than later, because if you change your mind and I'm in the middle of chemo and I get a text from you saying 'I think we should see other people'… well, I'll tell you, it won't be the cancer that kills me."

He's silent for a great deal of time, just staring at the wall in front of him, his jaw clenching and unclenching. _Great, _she thinks, _I broke Oliver Queen._

Then he speaks, low and slow, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do right now.

Part of me wants to shake you because you're a fool to think I would ever willingly leave you."

"Hey now, didn't I just finish talking about maintaining your image? Shaking a girl with cancer would definitely ruin it."

"Felicity."

"You're right, I'm sorry, now's not the time to be making cancer jokes… not that there's ever a time to make cancer jokes. There's nothing funny about cancer. From now on I'll be dead serious."

"_Felicity_."

"I'm sorry, I can't control it! It's like some useless defense mechanism."

"And the other part of me wants to pull you into my arms and do whatever it takes to convince you that I'm not going anywhere."

"… I like that part. Much better than the shaking. Go with that part."

He sighs, taking his hand in hers and making sure she's looking at him before continuing. "Listen to me very carefully. I love you. And despite whatever hyper-analytical, over-rational thinking you've got going on in your head right now, I will keep loving you until you finally realize I'm no good for you-"

"Oliver-"

"-and even after that, I'll keep on loving you. Because you're it for me. And as long as you're willing to put up with me, you're stuck with me. I want to be with you for _everything_, the good and the bad, because there's no one else I'd rather be with. Only you can send me away."

For once she's speechless, silenced by the tears in her eyes and the love in his.

He clears his throat, "But especially for something like this… please don't send me away."

She completely loses it at that, gasping in hiccupping sobs. He pulls her onto his lap and into his arms, and she mumbles into his shoulder, "Oh, Oliver, I would never send you away." She takes a deep breath to calm herself, "Who else would laugh at my cancer jokes?"

She feels him try to hold in a snort of laughter before pressing his lips to the top of her head.

They remain like that for a few moments before Oliver loosens his hold to look at her again. "Hey…" he starts, but is suddenly unable to look at her and avoids her gaze, "I… have something for you."

She gives him one of her looks, but then realizes he's still staring at the carpet so she confirms, "Just so you know, I'm giving you my 'What have I told you about giving me random presents?' look."

This time he laughs softly and returns his eyes to hers. "Right, well, I've had this present for a while… and I just… well, maybe it'll prove to you how committed I am to this relationship."

He sets her aside and stands up to get his coat. He reaches into the inside pocket, pulling out a small square box.

Felicity jumps up from the bed and leaps halfway across the room from him, and she doesn't realize she's saying anything until the white noise in her head stops. "WHOA! Whoa, wait, stop, is that- what are you- you can't- I mean, do you- you just… carry around a ring box in your jacket pocket? Like no biggie? How long have you been carrying it around? Is that even for me?"

"Felicity."

"Right, so it is for me… Right now? I mean, you're seriously doing this right now? I might have cancer! And we've only been dating for six months!"

"But you've been my best friend for five years."

"Stop it! Stop making me cry!"

As if he couldn't take the distance between them anymore, he crosses to her and gathers her into his arms again. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you cry. I picked this ring up a month after we started going out, but really wasn't planning on asking you until our one-year anniversary. I knew that if I proposed any sooner, you'd freak out. Like you're doing right now."

She pushes out of his arms and glares at him, "I am _not_ freaking out. This is the appropriate response when you find out your boyfriend slash boss slash vigilante hero has been carrying around an _engagement ring_ for five months, but still feels like he has to wait another _six_ before actually _proposing_! Do you know how crazy that is? Wait, of course you do, you freaking do parkour at two in the morning in green leather and hunt down terrorists with _arrows_. You are the epitome of crazy!"

He waits her out with that stupid amused smile of his and, after she takes a few deep breaths, she nods her head and he continues, "So, now it's my turn to be over analytical: I decided to propose now because if we do get married and, God forbid, you do become diagnosed with cancer, you won't have to worry about finding the money to pay for your cancer treatments."

"Oliver, I'm not going to marry you so you can pay for my cancer treatments."

"So don't. Marry me because you love me."

"You just don't… so, what? We get married, fine-"

"Well, I'm hoping it'd be more than 'fine'."

"-but what if I do get cancer, huh? And I get really, _really_ sick and-"

"Don't say it."

"-the worst happens. What then? You'll be all alone, and sad, and more broody than usual. And hurting. I don't want to hurt you."

"Felicity, you forcing me away, that's what will hurt me."

They stare at each other, and she knows they're thinking of the same exact thing. The same conversation they had six months earlier, when she finally convinced him to take a chance and move forward with their relationship. The same thing she said to him when he told her he didn't want her to get hurt because of the life he leads.

"_It's not the life you lead that will hurt me, Oliver. It's me not being in your life."_

She lets out a long sigh and relaxes her tense stance. Oliver relaxes as well, a hopeful glimmer in his eye.

"I'll accept your proposal on one condition: the mammogram results show negative for cancer."

Oliver tenses again slightly, not happy with her answer. "You're sure about that? You haven't even seen the ring yet."

She smiles, "I don't need to see the ring. I'd marry you if you proposed with a ring pop. Actually, that sounds delicious."

"And what if the stone was black onyx and as big as your thumb?"

"Then I'd ask you for the ring pop."

He shakes his head, "You're just going to leave me hanging, huh?"

"Cool your jets, Turbo. You'll get your results as soon as I get mine."

A few days later, Felicity gets her results and breaks the news to Oliver in the Lair by proposing to him on bended knee with a ring pop.

She's pretty sure she hears Digg come down the stairs at one point, sigh, and then go back up the stairs, but she can't bring herself to care because she loves how Oliver's kisses now taste like blue raspberry.

_End_

Yeah, probably OOC at some points, but for some reason when I try to write Oliver's lines, I really can't think of anything coughcoughexceptabscoughcough

So yeah, hopefully it wasn't too terrible. Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think, if you'd be so inclined!


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